The Lure of Chaos
by GardenerKing
Summary: An Inquisitor is captured by Chaos cultists. Can he remain true to the Emperor in the face of temptation? Should he?
1. Chapter 1

When Inquisitor Eusev Paladini awoke, he did not know where he was, but he was surprised to wake up at all. The last thing he remembered was the fire, the smoke, and then, the daemon….

"I don't have such a great feeling about this, boss," Yngolson had said. "There's got to be at least thirty of them."

"Thirty naked, unarmed cultists who don't know we're here, and, if you do as I bid, will never know what hit them," Paladini answered, gathering his small retinue around him. Yngolson had been a card sharp, confidence man, and semi-professional burglar when Paladini had recruited him back on Moretius II. The man was a scoundrel, but he had a way of getting into places and hearing things that were meant to be secret and secure, plus he was pretty good in a fight. Scapelli and Merko were both ex-Guardsmen, and they hadn't survived repeated actions against the 'Nids and the Orks by being weak or stupid. That left Ionsan, the tech-priest. Until recently, they had been six, but his psyker, Borinall, had channeled the powers of the Warp once too often, and Eusev had had to give him the Emperor's mercy.

"Now listen," he said. "They've been dancing around that bonfire for at least an hour now, so they're probably starting to tire, and they've got to be pretty distracted. If nothing else, they must be night-blind from the light. So here's the plan," and, with that, he started distributing eye patches to each of them, before continuing, "we're all going to put these on—over our stronger eyes, to accustom them to the dark. Then we're going to sneak through the woods to the edge of the clearing. Ionsan, you have the suppressor grenade?"

"Yes," the tech-priest replied in his synthetic voice, "and I believe I see your intent. I take it that I am to throw the grenade into the fire at your signal. The super-cooled gases in the grenade are anathema to flames, and so will instantly snuff the bonfire, plunging the clearing into darkness—"

"Thus blinding our targets. At that point, we all switch the patches to our other eyes and move in. As I said, they won't know what hit them, and they won't have any idea how many of us there are. They won't stand a chance. Use your shock mauls, boys, I want prisoners for interrogation."

"What makes you think these people know anything?" asked Scapelli. "From what we heard back in Falport, they're just a bunch of bored nobles playing cultist."

"We'll see. It's alright if you kill some of them, but I want at least a few for questioning. Now let's go." With that, the five of them crept off the ridge where they had been spying on the cultists by amplivisor, and started creeping through the woods….

Paladini forced his attention back to the present. There was no sense dwelling on the past, when there could well be Throne-knew-what dangers here in the present. Not that the situation looked dangerous. Looking around, he seemed to be lying on a large, soft bed in a well appointed bedroom. One entire wall was taken up by a large picture window, through which he could see a spectacular view of the mountains. "The Falcono range, if I'm still on the same continent," he thought to himself. "And the same planet."

The sheets he was lying on were as soft and silky as any fabric he had ever felt, and he soon realized that, but for bandages, which were wrapped around his head and midsection, and which appeared to be clean and fresh, he was naked. On the nightstand next to the bed was a vase of bright local flowers, which reassured him that he was likely still on Valadar Prime; he hadn't bothered to learn the name of the white and blue blossoms, but he'd seen them growing throughout the forest and foothills of the Falconos. "I'm probably not far from where I fell."

As he inspected his bandages, taking an inventory of just how injured he was, his mind cast back, unbidden, to how he'd gotten those wounds in the first place. Things had gone exactly to plan, at first. The fire had gone out suddenly, and he and his retinue had waded into the cluster of confused Slaaneshites, laying about them with shock mauls. The cultists started screaming, and falling all over themselves trying to get away.

Then the fire suddenly roared back to life, green and then blue in color, and some strange and horrible creature walked out of it. Silhouetted as it was against the fire, Eusev could only make out its outline, for which, he thought, he would be eternally grateful to the Emperor. Just the outline, though, was dreadful enough. From the neck down, it seemed, the thing had the body of a man, or something man-like, at any rate, but where its head ought to have been, there was naught but a writhing mass of tentacles, reaching out for him and his companions.

Eusev had not become an Inquisitor by being a coward, though, and so he drew his bolt pistol and opened up on the…thing, screaming "Ave Imperator!" Around him, he could hear the crack of laspistols and his retinue also opened fire. Not that all their shooting seemed to do any good, for the thing seemed altogether unfazed by their fire. And then one of the tentacles was around him. Realizing his mistake, he dropped his shock maul and reached for the chainsword at his waist, but he was already too late. The tentacle was squeezing the breath out of him, and he heard, as much as felt, his ribs crack.

Then he was flying through the air, and slammed against a tree trunk, hitting the back of his head. His vision swam, but he heard his comrades screaming. He tried to rush forward, back into the fray, but he found he couldn't move. It was as though he were stuck to the tree, his body suspended off the ground. He flailed his legs, but could find no purchase on the ground. "What?" he thought to himself stupidly, still dizzy. He looked down and saw a tree branch sticking out of his midsection. He realized that he must have been impaled on it when the daemon had hurled him against the tree. Then he knew no more.

That was when she walked in. Eusev felt the breath go out of him in a painful rasp. She was astonishingly beautiful, so much so that Eusev feared for a moment that he had died after all. She was tall, slender, with a swan-like neck. Her skin, what he could see of it, was as smooth and fair. She wore a pale grey dress, simple but elegant, that flattered her figure, but was quite modest, leaving only her head, neck, and hands uncovered. Her hair was done up in an extremely elaborate coiffure of interwoven plaits that must have taken half a dozen handmaids hours to fix. It was intricately dyed as well, so that the braids alternated colors, brown, blonde, red, and so forth, all woven together. "Oh, good, you're awake," she said, and her voice, warm with evident relief and concern, was as beautiful as the rest of her.

"Wh-whe-where am I?" he tried to ask.

"Shh, don't try to talk yet," she said, coming over and sitting on the edge of the bed. "You're still badly injured. You're lucky to be alive, in fact. Would you like some water?"

He nodded weakly.

"Good. Now, can you sit up? Don't strain yourself."

He tried to prop himself up with his arms, but found he lacked the strength.

"Alright," she said, reaching her arms under his armpits, "I'm going to try to prop you up on your pillows. Just try to relax." As she wrapped her arms around him to help him sit up, her body brushed against his, and even weakened as he was, he felt himself begin to respond. Then, with surprising strength, she hoisted him upright and released him, letting him recline against the mass of down pillows. Then she reached over to the nightstand for a pitcher and glass behind the vase. She poured water into the glass and held it against his lips. "Don't try to drink too much at first."

The water was cool and sweet, and after a few sips, he felt like he might be ready to try again to talk. "My friends?" he rasped.

Her eyes went down, and he knew at once that they were dead. "I'm sorry," she said, "but their lights have returned to the Great Ocean."

He let himself feel only the most momentary pang of grief. They had been his friends, it was true, but it was in the nature of things for an Inquisitor to lose acolytes in the line of duty. Something about the way she phrased it worried him, however. Throne knew the Imperial cult had a thousand variants from world to world, and any number of them had strange euphemisms for death, but all the same, something about that phrasing set off alarm bells in his head. He could not, for his life, have said just why at that moment.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"In the guest bedroom of a cottage belonging to a friend of mine." She smiled a little at the word 'cottage.' "Between you and me," she stage-whispered, as if sharing some great secret, "some people might call this a mansion, but it's in the country, so it's a cottage."

"It must be nice to have rich friends," he said.

"It can be. It certainly worked out well for you," she said, smiling even more now. Then she turned serious. "I'm glad you're alive. You had me very worried for a while there."

"Who are you?"

"Pardon me, I have forgotten my courtesies. Medeana Kirkena Nimuena von Rothbardt," she said, standing and curtsying, "at your service."

"You're lying."

She laughed. "No, I promise, that really is my name. My parents had, well, strange tastes."

"Not about that. You said you had rich friends, but—"

"Actually, you said that, but you're quite right, I do."

"But you are clearly rich yourself."

"Now there you are wrong, sirrah," smiling and laughing once more. "This dress that I am wearing," and with that, she curtsied again, "is all that I own in the galaxy—and even it was a gift."

"Ah, but your manners indicate clearly that you had a noble upbringing, and you must have many servants to wear your hair that way." He indicated her hair with a small hand gesture that took nearly all his strength, and, as he did so, noticed something odd. The interlaced locks of her plaits were brown, red, blonde. "Hadn't they been brown, blonde, red before?" he thought to himself.

"Very good!" she said, with a clap of her hands, interrupting his train of thought. She was grinning broadly now, and it managed to make her more beautiful still. "Yes, you're quite right, I am indeed the daughter of a noble house, although from a hive world far from here, but I have long since left them and their fortune behind. And yes, I have received…assistance with my hair, although that was freely given, more or less. All the same, I see your powers of observation and deduction are no less than I would expect from an agent of the Holy Ordos."

"Holy Ordos? What makes you say that?"

"I found your rosette when I was undressing you. Relax, you have nothing to be ashamed of."

"Wait, how did I get here? And where is here? Who are you and your friends?"

Her mien became much more serious. "I told you, you are in a house belonging to a friend of mine. And you are not far from where you were injured. As to how you got here, my friends and I carried you here to better treat your injuries."

"You still haven't answered my third question. Who are you and your friends?"

"Haven't I? Did I overestimate your powers of deduction?" Her hair had changed again: the pattern was now brown, blonde, red again, but the brown had darkened to black, and the blonde had turned pure white. The room was pleasantly warm, but Eusev felt his innards go cold.

"You were the daemon, the thing in the fire."

To be continued….


	2. Chapter 2

"A daemon!" she laughed again, that silver chime of a laugh. "Am I really as hideous as all that? A psyker, a sorceress, and a mutant, yes, but a daemon?" As she spoke, her hair, moving on its own, unwove itself, and Eusev realized that what he had taken for tentacles in the darkness and smoke were actually the living tendrils of her hair, writhing, shifting colors, not just blonde, brown, red, and black, but other colors not natural to human hair. Her hair, unbound, was long, so long it would have hung to her ankles, if it hung at all, instead of moving the way it did. Eusev struggled with all his might to get up, to get at her, to destroy this foul abomination, but again found that he was still too weak to sit up or even lift his hands.

"Eusev, stop, you'll tear your stitches," she said, concerned, and came toward him. As she spoke, her hair ceased writhing, and fell down her back, like normal hair, although its colors were still shifting in a bizarre rainbow. "Here, lie back, let me help you." She sat on the side of the bed, her knee brushing against his thigh, and leaned over him to grasp his wrists. To his amazement, she lifted her hands to that perfect porcelain neck, and sat there, her serene gaze upon him. He tried desperately to strangle her, but found that he was too weak even to clench his fists. He might have wept, but refused to give this Warp-twisted abomination the satisfaction. Instead, he knew to lie back and wait for his chance.

She lay his hands back down on the bed and stroked his brow. "If you're really in such a hurry, I do know certain sorceries that could heal you in an instant, and return you to full vigor besides."

"I would rather die than be polluted by the powers of Chaos, witch."

"I thought you might feel that way. That's why I did not use those gifts on you when you were still unconscious, so I had to care for you with more prosaic treatments. Hence the bandages."

"Why save me at all? Why not destroy me like you did my retinue?"

She sounded genuinely sad as she answered. "I regret that. I had no idea what was happening except that we were under attack and my friends were in danger, and I reacted out of instinct. But Papa Nurgle teaches us that all life is sacred, and when I saw that you were still alive, I knew I had to try to save you."

"Nurgle? I had you pegged for a Slaaneshite."

"You're not wrong. I am actually a priestess of Chaos Undivided. The ritual you interrupted last night was indeed a celebration to Slaanesh."

"Do you really expect me to believe that you saved me out of some sense of religious duty? I don't know what your plan is, but I know better than to trust anything you say. For all I know, you are keeping my friends prisoner in other rooms of this very house, telling each that he was the only survivor."

"I only wish I were. I meant it when I said that I regret what I did. When you are well enough, I will take you to their gravesites, if that would please you."

"When I am well enough, I will kill you. That will please me."

"When I told you that I considered all life sacred, did you think I excepted my own? What makes you think I will just allow you to kill me?"

"If you want to stop me, you had better kill me, witch. Because as long as I'm alive, I will never stop trying to destroy you."

She turned away from him, looking at the floor instead. "I don't believe you," she said, after a while. "If you really meant that, you wouldn't say it. If you really wanted to kill me, you would not try to provoke me into killing you now. You would try to lull me into a false sense of security instead."

"Think what you want. I'm done bantering with you. Kill me or nurse me back to health, as you please."

"Do you know what I think?"

"I just said I don't care."

"I think you want me to kill you. I think you're angry at yourself for leading your friends into a trap, and that you blame yourself for their deaths. I think you want me to punish you for that."

"Go back to hell."

"Then I shall make you a deal."

"I don't make deals with heretics and Warp-twisted mutants." He spoke with such vehemence that he broke into a coughing fit with those last words, and agony gripped his midsection, shooting pain throughout his frame.

"Shh, please don't strain yourself," she said, stroking his brow. "And I think you will like this deal." At that, she paused for several seconds. "I shall allow you to kill me, if that is truly what you want. I shall, as you say, nurse you back to health. Then, when you are well enough, I shall once again place my throat in your hands, and you may strangle the life from me."

"And what do you want that is worth your miserable life?"

"On the contrary, my life is generally a happy one, but happy or miserable, it is mine, and I love it, and would fain not lose it. But I am willing to hazard it on the chance that I can persuade you not to murder me. That is what I want in exchange. You must give me the chance, a real chance, to change your mind. You must talk with me, and listen, really listen, to what I have to say."

"I don't believe you. Why would you agree to such a thing? You have me totally in your power."

"Perhaps I'm just very confident in my persuasiveness."

"Is telepathic domination among your…gifts, then?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, but you have my word that I shall not use warpcraft to bewitch you. I shall rely only on reason and evidence."

"How can I believe your word? If you can telepathically control my thoughts, you could just as easily make me think that I was acting of my own free will."

She laughed again at that. "Yes, I suppose I could. In fact, perhaps I already have. Perhaps the only reason you think you don't trust me is that I planted the idea not to trust me in your thoughts. Maybe I'm controlling you completely, and you only think you are controlling what you say because I want you to think that. In which case, you really have no choice but to trust me that I'm not doing that, don't you?"

"I see your point."

"I told you all I needed was sweet reason."

"Reason away then. What brilliant arguments can you present to me as to why I should abandon my duty?"

She paused for a moment, then spoke. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself? Where are you from? What sort of planet?"

"Why would you wish to know that?"

"Perhaps I just wish to understand you a little better, so as to know what sort of arguments might work on you. You already know that I was born to a noble house on a hive world. What harm can it do to at least tell me what sort of planet you came from?"

He sighed at this, giving up a little. "A forge world in Segmentum Tempestus, although I won't tell you which one."

"You must still have family there, then. I suppose I could promise that they have nothing to fear from me, but that would probably do no good."

"It would not."

"Well, surely you can tell me a little bit about them. What did your parents do? I'm guessing they weren't tech-priests."

"Hardly. My mother had been tithed to the Mechanicum from the hive world she came from originally. She works on an assembly line in a manufactorum. My father is an asteroid miner."

"That must have taken him away from home a lot of the time when you were growing up."

"It did."

"That must have been difficult for you and the other children, especially with your mother also working."

"What makes you think I had any siblings?"

"Just a guess. In fact, I'm guessing you were one of many children. Am I wrong?"

"No," he conceded grimly. "I suppose it does no harm to tell you I was one of eight. Four brothers, three sisters."

"Were you the oldest?"

"Now I know you are reading my mind."

"Not at all."

"Then how—?"

"You used the present tense. You said that your mother works on an assembly line and that your father is an asteroid miner. That suggests that they are still working in the jobs they had when you were a child. Since forge world workers don't exactly have the greatest life expectancies in the galaxy, it stood to reason that they must have had you when they were young, and that you must have been one of the older, if not the oldest, of their children."

"Clever. Very clever. I see I must be careful not to give things away."

"If you think that will make you happy. I find that the more I give away, the happier I am. It couldn't have been easy, with your father away all the time and your mother also working. Who took care of you and your brothers and sisters?"

"I did. My father left me in charge of them. I had to obey my mother, of course, but otherwise I was in charge, and my brothers and sisters were my responsibility."

"That must have been a lot of responsibility to lay on you."

"What if it was?"

"Did you ever resent your father for it?"

"Did I what? Of course not! I loved my father! And I knew that he had only taken that job to take care of all of us."

"But still, to leave you in charge of all your siblings…."

"Did you ever have any brothers or sisters?"

"No. I was an only child."

"Obviously. Otherwise you'd know that there is nothing more pleasant for any child than being able to tell his siblings what to do, and knowing that they have to listen. I always did my best to be fair," he hastened to add.

"But you liked being in charge?"

"Yes, I did. So what? Any child in that situation would have."

"Anyone?"

"Yes, alright? Anyone."

"Even Horus?"

"What? What are you talking about? My childhood has nothing to do with the damn Horus Heresy!" Raising his voice hurt, and he broke into another coughing fit, which hurt more. She caressed his hacking chest and abdomen with her soft, warm hands, and he soon felt better.

"Try to remain calm, please. I'm only asking questions."

"No you're not," he wheezed. "I see what you are trying to do. It won't work."

"Really? And what am I trying to do?"

"You want me to question the causes of the Horus Heresy. It is well established that the seed of the Heresy was laid when the Emperor left the Great Crusade to return to Holy Terra, leaving Horus in command as Warmaster. Horus resented it, and felt abandoned and betrayed. That is historical fact! You will not trick me into questioning it."

"Even though it makes no sense?"

"Of course it makes sense! Why shouldn't it make sense? Just because you tricked me into saying that I was happy when my fath—" at this point, he was seized by another wracking cough.

"Shh, shh," she soothed, embracing him and rubbing his back. He felt her hair, soft and light as gossamer, wrapping around him as well, warm and alive, and soon the coughing stopped and the pain eased. She seemed not to notice his nakedness, of which he was all too conscious, as he was of her body through the material of her dress. "I've upset you," she said softly. "That was not what I wanted."

"Of course it was. You think I've never broken a prisoner before? You make him suffer and then you comfort him, and soon he'll do anything for you."

"Is that what you think I'm doing? Isn't it possible I just want to help you?"

"Just want to help the man who has sworn to kill you? No one is that kind."

"Are you still determined to do that? Has nothing I've said made any difference?"

"No, and I shall listen to no more of it."

"You gave your word."

"Then I release you from our bargain. You need not let me kill you. Flee or fight back, as you see fit. I shall do my best to kill you, but you need not let me. But I'll hear no more of your lies."

She stood up from his bedside then, and drew herself up to her not inconsiderable full height. "You may have released me, but I do not release you. We made a bargain, and I intend to hold you to it."

"Will you force me to listen to you, then?"

"Of course not." She reached into the drawer of nightstand and took out a small bell, which she placed atop the nightstand. "When you have returned to reason, and are prepared to listen to reason, ring the bell, and I shall come. And before you ask, no, you are not a prisoner, or not mine, at any rate: you may walk out of here whenever you wish…if you can. But you will never see me again until you ring that bell. The choice, as always, is yours." With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room. He expected her to slam it, but she didn't even close it all the way.

To be continued….


	3. Chapter 3

Eusev knew quite well what she was doing. Isolation was one of the most effective ways of breaking a prisoner. Human beings were social creatures by nature, and long-term solitude was simply unbearable for all but the strongest-willed of men. It took time, and therefore was not always an option when one had to break a prisoner quickly, but everyone broke under isolation eventually. Of course, she had nothing but time. As far as Eusev knew, no one but von Rothbardt knew where he was, nor would anyone miss him, at least not for a very long time. The Inquisition was a highly decentralized organization by design, and Inquisitors often dropped out of contact for years at a time. Nor had he informed anyone outside of his retinue of his plans or whereabouts, and, unless von Rothbardt had lied, the men of his retinue were all dead.

No, no one was coming to rescue him. Nor could he hope to escape, weak as he was. The door to the room, he could see from here, was not even shut all the way, much less locked. The windows were also left slightly ajar, so that fresh air and sunshine could come in. It did not matter. In his weakened condition, the door might as well have been on another planet, for all that he could hope to reach it. He could not even sit up straight.

At first, he had considered it a miracle from the Emperor that he had survived at all. He clearly remembered the tree branch going all the way through him, after all. As the days passed, however, he began to think that the Emperor might better have allowed him to die. He knew he could not hold out much longer. The bell on the nightstand was looking more tempting every hour.

The funny part was that he was suffering all this in the lap of luxury. She might have pled poverty for herself, but von Rothbardt clearly had wealthy "friends," by which Eusev could only assume she meant followers. It was hardly surprising, as he had originally been investigating a Slaaneshite cult among the nobility of this planet. As such, the bed was the softest he could remember sleeping on, the sheets the smoothest. Whenever he slept, which was often, he awoke to find that the tray of food on the nightstand had been replaced. He had grown up accustomed to eating reconstituted protein bars and soylens viridians, and in his travels for the Inquisition, first as an acolyte, then a throne agent, and finally as a full inquisitor himself, he had largely remained accustomed to mean fare. His captor's chef, or whichever chef she had borrowed, was a true artist, or so it seemed to him.

He considered pretending to sleep, and waiting to see who it was who was bringing the food. It might have been a mindless servitor, but if it turned out to be human servant, he or she might give him a chance to relieve the crushing solitude, and perhaps provide useful information, or more besides. But every time he closed his eyes and lay still, he soon found himself drifting off for real, hardly surprising, given his injuries. The one time he managed to stay awake for any length of time, almost two hours, if he could judge by the change in light through the window, no one came. Then when he awoke, a fresh silver tray was sitting on the nightstand.

Finally, he could take no more. Whispering "Emperor forgive me," he reached for the nightstand and rang the bell. He barely had time to wonder how long he would have to wait for her to appear when the door opened and she came in, wheeling a silver service cart of some sort. She was dressed in a different gown this time, this one a cream-yellow sundress. Her hair hung loosely down her back, swaying without any breeze, ripples of blue and purple running through her now-brown, now-blonde locks.

"I'm glad you have finally seen sense," she said, as she sat on the edge of the bed. "Can you sit up? I should change the dressings on your wounds." With some effort and some help from her, he managed to sit up, and she started unwrapping the bandage around his head. She tilted his head forward and he felt her soft hand prodding gently on the bump on the back of his head. "Hmm, good. The wound is clean, and the swelling has almost all gone down. At first I was worried you might have a serious concussion, but it seems to have been nothing more than a mild bump on the head. The stitches can probably come out soon. With that, she took fresh gauze and began to rebandage his head wound, although she used a much smaller dressing this time.

When she was finished with that, she reached around him and began unwinding the bandages around his chest. Having her so near him had the same effect on him as it had before, and he resisted the temptation to move his hands a few inches so as to touch her body. She seemed totally at ease and not in the least bashful, although she could hardly not have noticed the effect she was having on him. "The good news is that the entrance and exit wounds are both clean. No sign of infection. They're both also scabbing over, though. I'll have to remove that or the stitches will be impossible to get out." She reached onto the cart for a bowl of water and a clean washcloth, and began patting the wounds, removing the scabbing as gently as possible. When she was finished, she took another rag and began patting the wounds dry.

Once she had begun wrapping fresh bandages around him, he asked her "Why do you say it's good news that my wounds aren't infected? I would imagine you'd consider infection a gift from your…'Papa.'"

"Infection is a gift from Papa Nurgle. But so is health. And if you wish to keep enjoying that gift, you'll need a bath."

"You'll have to help me up then."

"Don't be silly. There's no need for you to strain yourself. I'll give you a sponge bath. We can talk while I do." With that, she picked up a large bowl from the cart and walked into what Eusev could only assume was the bathroom. There was the sound of running water, and then she returned, sat back down on the bed, picked up a sponge from the cart, and began to wash him. As she did, she asked "Have you thought about what I said before?"

"I have. And I am prepared to listen to you, and to answer your questions, but you must cease this pretense."

"Pretense? What pretense is that?"

"The pretense that you are the one on trial here, that you are the one whose life hangs in the balance."

"Does that mean that you've decided not to kill me?"

"It means that we both know that you have no intention of just letting me kill you. You're really trying to persuade me to join you, to betray my duty to the Emperor and follow Chaos."

"I try to persuade everyone who will listen to seek freedom, both spiritual and temporal, and to seek the truth and worship the true gods."

"And if you fail, do you expect me to believe that you are just going to let me go free, to hunt you down, along with your followers?"

"They are not my followers; they are my friends. And, as I promised you, you will have no need to hunt me down."

"You'll have to forgive me if I'm a little skeptical of your promise. Believe it or not, yours is not the first Chaos cult I've fought, and your…coreligionists do not, in my experience, just lie down to be killed."

"Oh yes, I'm quite familiar with the way some Chaos-worshippers choose to practice." For the first time she raised her voice. "Do you think we are all killers and torturers? Do you think I feel good at having kil—at having taken the lives of four men?"

"I think you are a priestess of Chaos Undivided. I can only assume that that means you worship Khorne, to whom bloodshed is sacred. So yes, I would think you happy to have shed—what is the phrase—'Blood for the Blood God!'"

"You think you know so much. Yes, I serve Khorne, and yes, all bloodshed is sacred to Khorne. But not all blood is shed through killing, and not all serve Khorne through war."

"Really? So how do you serve Khorne, exactly? You wanted me to listen, well, I'm all ears."

"As a midwife."

He lay there, dumbfounded. She smiled, clearly enjoying the fish-like expression on his face. After several very long seconds, he found his voice. "'As a midwife?' You're not serious, are you?"

"Of course I'm serious. You do realize that women bleed during childbirth, yes? For that matter, you do realize that women undergo great pain, and no small risk of death, when they bring new life into the galaxy? I trust you are not totally ignorant of these matters. Wheresoever any mortal soul shows endurance in the face of pain, courage in the face of death, and sheds her blood for a cause, Khorne is there with her. As I, in my own small way, try to be, for those few whom I can."

"Well then, I shall have to alert my colleagues to begin an investigation into the midwives and nurses of the Imperium. Who knows how many heretics we'll uncover, thanks to the information you've just given me?"

"You would consign billions of innocent women across the galaxy to the flames of the Inquisition, for what? For what crime, exactly? For what harm done?"

"The crime of heresy, of course."

"Well, if you want to uncover Khorne worshippers, you had better investigate the Imperial Guard too. How many billions of soldiers, before they go into battle to face the enemies of your 'Emperor,' whisper prayers to Khorne? If you're not careful, you'll leave your precious Imperium defenseless against its real enemies."

"Do you deny that Chaos is a real threat to the Imperium? Do you seriously deny that the Traitor Legions are a real enemy?"

"Only because you've driven them to it! Horus never betrayed the Emperor! Everything you think you know about the so-called Horus Heresy is a lie. 'History' written by the victors."

"So you implied before. So tell me, what really happened, if you know so much?"

"No. You tell me. When your father left you in charge of your brothers and sisters, you enjoyed having power over them, or so you told me. How did they feel about it?"

"Why don't you just tell me what you are getting at, because I think I already know."

"The younger ones were probably the most biddable, were they not? But the elder, the ones closest to you in age, probably resented having you in charge, didn't they?"

"And I suppose you mean to tell me that it was the other Primarchs who resented Horus' elevation."

"Some of them, yes. One above all others."

"Which one?"

"Come, you were doing so well. Can't you guess?"

"If everything I think I know about the Heresy is a lie, as you claim, how am I to guess? On the basis of what information?"

"What you've been told about the 'Heresy' is a lie. What you know about human nature, what you've learned as an Inquisitor, is not. Think. Which of your brothers and sisters most resented your elevation over them? The ones closest to you in age. The ones who saw themselves as rightfully your equals, or even superiors. The one who most resented the elevation of Horus was the one who thought that he should command his brothers. The one who thought that he was the greatest of the Primarchs, his legion the greatest of the legions."

"I see what you are aiming at, and—"

"The one who named his legion the _Ultramarines_."

"Nonsense. Roboute Guilliman did not resent Horus' elevation. Horus only thought he did."

"Really? According to whom?"

"All the historical accounts of the era say so."

"And who wrote those accounts? Which of them interviewed Horus to ask him what he thought Guilliman felt?"

"So how do you know what you claim to know? What accounts do you trust?"

"It's true, there are stories passed down among followers of the True Way. But I believe them because they make sense. The standard Imperial accounts, that claim that Guilliman did not resent Horus' elevation, were all written after the war, when Guilliman ruled the Imperium, and controlled the writing of the history. Doesn't it sound like the account protests a little too much? Why the need to emphasize that Guilliman did not resent Horus's elevation? Because he needed people to believe that he didn't."

"So that's your evidence that Guilliman was the traitor and not Horus? Because he called his legion the Ultramarines and said that he never resented having to obey his brother? Is that all you have."

"There's more. Do you know the story of Guilliman's early life, how he came to rule Macragge before the Emperor came?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me it's all lies, but he was adopted by one of the consuls of Macragge, Konor Guilliman, and grew up to be a great soldier."

"Go on. What happened then?"

"While Roboute was leading an expedition to bring the barbarians living in the wilderness areas of the planet under the control of the government, Konor's co-consul, Galan, led a rebellion to seize power for himself. Konor led the defense of the Senate house personally, and held off the rebels, but was badly wounded in the process. Eventually Roboute returned to the capital from his expedition, learned what was happening, defeated Galan and his rebels, and raised the siege of the Senate. Konor Guilliman died of his wounds, and with Galan also dead, that left Roboute in sole control of Macragge. So what?"

"Really? You don't see? Leaving aside how convenient it was that the lawful consuls just happened to eliminate each other while Guilliman was out of the city, do you really not see that that's the exact same story as the Horus Heresy? Change the names Konor, Galan, and Senate house to Emperor, Horus, and Terra, and it's the exact same plot. Or perhaps I should say the exact same scheme. You don't find that the least bit hard to swallow?"

"Even if I were to accept, for the sake of argument, that that were too much of a coincidence to accept, how could Roboute Guilliman have arranged it? How could he just happened to know that Horus would rebel and attack Terra, and how did he arrange his arrival just in time?"

"I already told you, Horus never rebelled. It was Roboute Guilliman and his cronies, especially Leman Russ and Sanguinius."

"Sanguinius! Now I know you are lying. Sanguinius was Horus' best friend. Why would he join a conspiracy against both him _and_ the Emperor?"

"He didn't, not against Horus, at least. As for why he betrayed the Emperor, Roboute tricked him."

"How?"

"Do you know who the Thunder Warriors were?"

"Yes. They were the Emperor's first genetically modified super-soldiers, used to win the Wars of Unification on Holy Terra."

"And what became of them?"

"The last of them died in the final battle of the Unification."

"Yes, but what really happened?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." The expression on his face made it clear he knew exactly what she meant.

"Surely you don't mean to say that the truth is unknown to the Inquisition? The Thunder Warriors were betrayed and murdered by their own creator, once they had fulfilled their purpose."

"How did you know that?"

"Few secrets can hide from a seeker after truth. But you already knew what became of the Thunder Warriors. And the Primarchs knew it too. How they found out, I'm not certain. Some say that Konrad Curze saw it in one of his dreams, and told his brothers. Others say that the Emperor simply let them know, as a not-so-veiled threat. The important thing is that they knew, and they knew why. Do you?"

"Because the Thunder Warriors were created only for war. They could not function in a society at peace. Once Unification was achieved, they themselves became a threat to the new order they had built."

"Getting Sanguinius to turn on his master was simple. Guilliman had somehow discovered the existence of the Blood Angels' Flaw, and that, outside the Blood Angels and himself, only Horus knew of it. He met with Sanguinius, and told him that Horus he had learned of the Flaw from Horus, who had revealed to him that he had also told the Emperor. Guilliman also told him that the Emperor had decided that, with the Great Crusade winding down, the time had come to eliminate those Legions whose propensity toward mutation made them unsuitable for the new, peaceful future that was coming. He had already begun by sending the Space Wolves to destroy the Thousand Sons. Of course, it was Guilliman who had sent Russ, his chief co-conspirator, to do away with Magnus and his Legion; the Emperor had nothing to do with it."

"I still don't believe you. Why would Roboute Guilliman and Leman Russ want to do all this? Surely they were not in thrall to Chaos!"

"Do you think a man must worship Chaos to be a traitor? I already told you that billions of loyal Imperial citizens secretly worship Chaos. Does it not follow that one who worships tyranny and oppression could be a traitor?"

"That still doesn't explain why they did it."

"Guilliman did it for the reasons I already told you. He resented that Horus had been raised over him, and, more fundamentally, he resented that anyone was above him. He wanted to rule the galaxy himself, as he had earlier wanted to rule Macragge. It will not escape your notice that he succeeded in both cases, and by essentially the same stratagem."

"But why would Russ help him?"

"Because he hated psykers. That part of the false history is quite true. That made it easy for Guilliman to persuade him to attack Prospero."

"But why would he want to betray the Emperor?"

"Didn't you just hear what I said? Why would you think a man filled with burning hatred for all psykers would make an exception for the mightiest psyker of them all?"

Eusev was quiet. "I once heard it said, back when I was still an acolyte, that the forces of Chaos tempt men to corruption not only with lies, but also with terrible, maddening truths. I see now just how true that was. Part of me can't stand to hear what you say, but that is because I see how much sense it makes. Your tale has the ring of truth, but that truth is a burden too hard to bear."

She leaned over and stroked his hair, placing a gentle kiss on his brow. "Eusev, I don't wish to hurt you. Believe me, I have never wished to hurt anyone. But the truth is not terrible, and it is no burden. Just the opposite: the truth will set you free. It is the lie that enslaves you."

"Please, just finish your tale."

"There is not much more to tell. Sanguinius believed that the Emperor was about to move to destroy him and his Legion, so he decided to strike first. He gathered his entire Legion and immediately set out for Terra. He arrived and attacked without warning, overrunning most of the outer defenses quite quickly. When Horus and the other Primarchs heard, they were shocked, but Horus immediately gathered all the forces he could, and set out for Earth to raise the siege. He arrived too late to stop Sanguinius from murdering the Emperor, but he ordered an attack on the Blood Angels, who now held the Imperial Palace."

She stopped speaking for a moment and took a sip of water before continuing. "Much of the account of the battle of the Imperial Palace is basically accurate, except inverted. The Blood Angels really were defending the Palace against the attack of Horus. The vast majority of the Mechanicum supported Horus, of course; it is hardly credible that the Fabricator General himself and most of the tech-priests on Mars would turn traitor practically under the Emperor's nose, although that was the story that had to be told later. Likewise, Guilliman and Russ would later give out that the reason the Emperor was never seen during the battle was that he was trapped on the Golden Throne, holding the portal closed against the daemons of the Warp. Horus really did kill Sanguinius, although on Earth, not aboard the Vengeful Spirit. Nevertheless, the battle continued, with both sides sustaining heavy losses."

"Just then, the Ultramarines and Space Wolves arrived. Horus thought they had come as reinforcements. His men cheered when they saw them landing. Then Guilliman attacked. His and Russ' Legions were the hammer, and the Blood Angels still holding the Palace were the anvil. They killed Horus and slaughtered most of his forces. The survivors fled, to the one place in the galaxy where they could be sure they would not be pursued, the Eye of Terror. With Guilliman now firmly in control, he could order the Astropaths present on Terra to spread whatever story he liked to the rest of the Imperium. He used his own betrayal of Horus on Terra as the basis for the tale of the 'Drop Site Massacre.'"

"The rest you know, more or less. Guilliman propped his father's corpse up on a yellow chair, and told the rest of the galaxy that he had ascended to godhood. The man who had tried to destroy all religion was now to be worshipped himself. Perverse, but he knew that claiming to rule in the name of this new god would grant him greater legitimacy than simply ruling on his own authority. He created the Inquisition, originally to hunt down anyone who knew the truth or might guess it, although he spun a tale that Malcador had created it at the behest of the Emperor. And that was that. Guilliman ruled the galaxy. As a gift to Russ for his help, Guilliman banned almost all use of psychic powers; of course, he claimed that the Emperor had so ordered at the Council of Nikaea, a totally fictitious event. That, incidentally, was why he claimed it occurred on such an isolated and unsettled world as Nikaea—a place that made no sense as the location for an important conference—since that would explain why no one had heard of this before. Not that it was all that difficult to get most people to believe it, as most people hated and feared psykers, then as now."

A heavy silence hung in the air between them after that. Finally, Eusev spoke: "As I said, everything you say makes logical sense. The story has the ring of truth, and you are right that the received history makes no sense. But how can you be certain that you are right? Is this just the received history among the followers of Chaos? Did you just piece this together based on what seemed logical to you? What proof do you have?"

"I can give you proof, if you will let me."

"What proof is that?"

"You know why the Emperor left the Great Crusade and returned to Terra?"

"To work on the Imperial Webway project. He had only finished a small section of it before Magnus—"

"Before Magnus what? Broke it? Eusev, the section of Webway the Emperor built is still intact. It has been for ten thousand years. It is possible to travel, in spirit form, through the Great Ocean, to see it. I will teach you the sorcery needed to do so, if you will let me. That is my proof."

"I—I must think on that. It's not that—it's just—I don't know if—"

"Relax. It's not a spell that could be learned in one night anyway, and if you do wish to learn sorcery, we should wait until you are fully healed. For now, I imagine you must be tired and hungry. I certainly am. If you'll excuse me for a while, I shall go prepare dinner. I hope you've been finding my cooking palatable."

"That was your cooking? I assumed that whoever lent you this house lent you his chef as well."

At this, she smiled, for the first time since she came in the room. "Eusev, I told you, we are alone in this house."

"You also told me that you owned only that one grey dress, and yet here I find you wearing a yellow one."

"I did not lie. The owners of this house do let me raid their closets. As I said, I have generous friends. Now shh, rest, let me go cook."

Later, after an excellent dinner eaten in companionable silence, as Medeana put his tray back on the service cart, Eusev found himself drifting off to sleep. It would not be untroubled.

To be continued….


End file.
